


Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have (Without Taking Her Clothes Off)

by Gryffindancer



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, Darcy Lewis is Tony Stark's Daughter, F/M, Ignoring problems makes them go away, Secret Identity, Shameless Smut, Smut, Songfic, lying liars who lie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:01:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gryffindancer/pseuds/Gryffindancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint knows she's lying but it doesn't really matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lying Is The Most Fun A Girl Can Have (Without Taking Her Clothes Off)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all of you wonderful humans!
> 
> So here is the one-shot I originally promised the other day. And I promise Chapter 7 of _I Just Can't Stand_ will be on its way before too long!
> 
> But for now, here's a little shameless smut with a tiny bit of plot, just for funsies:)
> 
> Inspired loosely by the Panic! At the Disco song of the same title.

Clint knew she wasn't who she said she was.

Her name wasn't Sarah Miller.

He was a trained spy and assassin, so he knew that much at the very least.

Aside from the fact that both of those names were suspiciously common, he'd noticed other little things. Her ID was definitely a fake - but he was almost positive she was over twenty-one, and absolutely sure she was over eighteen. It was certainly a convincing fake ID. One that almost any bouncer or bartender wouldn't be able to catch. But he had slightly more advanced training for noticing such things, and it hadn't slipped by him.

Which was part of why he let himself fall into bed with her at all -- something he wouldn't have done if there was a chance he didn't think she was legal.

And it always took her a split second too long to answer to the name she'd given him. Moreover, he had gotten a glimpse of her phone one time before she had turned the screen off. It had been a text conversation from a contact listed as "Mad Scientist Lady <3." The message from this person had simply said, "I miss you, Dar."

So he figured her name was "Darlene," or "Darby," or something like that.

Not that it really mattered anyways.

She wasn't his mission here. Just a nice distraction from the monotony of waiting.

His real goal -- the thing that had sent him here (or had Coulson send him here) nearly a month ago -- was the inevitable weapons drop that would be happening any day now.

Some Russian mob boss had been planning a transfer of nearly three hundred crates of automatic and semi-automatic guns. And what a better place to pull off such a deal. Nobody expects crimes like this to happen in a tiny beach town in North Carolina. Maybe in Miami, but definitely not here.

This place was like the setting from every Nicholas Sparks book ever. Not that Clint read them, or anything. (Okay, just _True Believer._ And _Nights in Rodanthe._ And okay, maybe _The Notebook._ But only because Nat had made him watch the movie, and the book was ten percent off on Amazon.)

Besides which, their intel was just clear enough to get a place and general time. But the drop had apparently been postponed by logisics on the Russian end of things. So Clint had been stuck in this humid, coastal town for what was going on four long weeks.

Which is how he had met her. One night, fruitlessly trying to make time go faster at the bottom of a beer bottle, in one of the two local bars in the entire town. She had sat down next to him at the bar, bought him another round and asked why he looked like something had bit him on the ass.

He had talked to so few people since showing up in this god-forsaken hamlet, that he couldn't help laughing out loud at her question. The sound of his laugh had made her crack a smile, framed by full lips, painted a deep shade of red. And an hour of chit-chat (nothing too in-depth from either party) later, she'd invited him back to her place, and he'd accepted.

They'd repeated this encounter in very similar colors two nights later. And pretty soon they were warming each other's beds several nights a week. And holy shit, was she a great fuck.

But despite knowing her in the biblical sense, he still knew nothing else about her. If he turned on his honest-to-god spy skills, he was sure he could definitely find out almost anything about her.

But why?

She clearly wanted to keep herself at arms length for a reason. And Clint didn't see any decent reason beyond plain curiosity to violate that wish.

Besides, she was good for keeping away the boredom, brought on by staying in this town.

Like right now, she was straddling his lap as he sat up against her wooden headboard. He had already stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt, and she was down to just her bra and underwear. He sucked a bruising mark into the skin beneath her jaw and she responded with a breathy keening sound that went straight to his groin. He straightened up a bit to reach behind him and pulled the back of his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side.

His hands came to her hips as she worked his boxers down his hips until his hard length was freed from it's confines. He gave himself a couple of strokes as she pulled her panties aside and came to hover her wet folds over the swollen tip. She leaned in and gave him a slow yet demanding kiss which he returned with plenty of enthusiasm, then she was sinking down on top of him. Taking his cock in, inch by inch.

He groaned at the feeling of her wet warmth encasing him so tightly. And then she began to move, rocking up slowly before sinking back down until their hips were flush against each other again.

He tipped his head back against the headboard, dragging his hands up and down her sides in time with her thrusts.

She worked him over, her ample cleavage bouncing as she rode him toward his breaking point.

He could already feel his climax getting closer, when she shifted the angle of her hips, leaning forward more and he felt himself seated even deeper inside her. This new position brought their lips closer and he took advantage of that -- capturing her mouth with his own, tongues tangling together as they chased their pleasure. 

He broke his mouth away from hers to trail open-mouthed kisses down the line of her jaw and across her throat. The moment he scraped his teeth against her pulse point, he felt her tense as her orgasm washed through her body. The walls of her cunt fluttering and spasming around him, driving him over the edge until he was coming hard and fast inside her.

*

Clint’s phone buzzed early the next morning, waking him. He hadn’t exactly intended to stay over at Sarah’s place, but when he woke he was still in her bed, with his arms wrapped around her and his feet tangled in the sheets. He carefully extracted himself, and checked his phone.

Crap.

The bust was going down today. And he was already late.

Clint looked around her apartment to find a scrap of paper and a pen, and quickly scribbled her a note.

*

Three months later, Clint was making himself a sandwich in the shared kitchen on the residential floors of Stark Tower. He’d just finished up a training session with Nat, and he was exhausted and a little pissed. She was trying to get him back in shape after several weeks off, spent healing, and today she had kicked his ass hard.

Literally. 

His tailbone felt a little bruised from landing so hard earlier.

The op a few months back had gone south before he’d finally (and just barely) taken them down. He had shown up expecting a couple of easy high angle shots to take down key members of the group, so the rest of the SHIELD agents could rush in and take everyone else down. But he hadn’t counted on them having their own sharp-shooter. 

Clint had taken a shot to the side, and come a little closer to bleeding out than he’d really care to admit.

He heard the elevator ding down the hallway, announcing someone’s arrival on the floor and he absently glanced up at the sound. He heard Thor’s booming voice a second later, followed by Jane’s quieter one. He knew they were really excited -- they had a friend visiting from out of town. Some big dramatic thing apparently. The friend had been offered a position with Stark’s company or something, but turned them down and disappeared for months. But apparently now that Jane and Thor were finally getting married, she was back.

“I just mean, he can’t expect me to just forget all those years I spent bouncing around foster homes, to magically start calling him dad and let him buy me off with misplaced nepotism and a shiny new car.” He heard another voice say, as they approached the kitchen. 

He heard Jane reply, “Well, I’m sure if he’d known about you earlier...”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here for your wedding then I’m gone again.” Clint thought there was something vaguely familiar about the third voice.

“Darcy...”

They turned the corner then.

“No. It pisses me off just being in this self-aggrandizing, disturbingly phallic, tower of ego.”

Clint dropped his sandwich, which landed on the edge of the plate and spilled half the ingredients onto the countertop.

It was Sarah.

Or...Darcy? Jane had called her Darcy.

“Motherfucker.” She said simply, stopping in her tracks when she saw him. 

“Clint!” Thor boomed, shaking Clint from his mild shock, “How fare you, shield brother?”

“A little surprised, to be honest.” Clint replied, leaning both hands on the counter.

“Wait,” Jane started, looking between Darcy and Clint. She was clearly putting the pieces together, “You two...know each other?”

“Jane, Thor buddy, can you give us a sec.” Darcy asked, crossing her arms.

“I feel I’ve missed something of importance...” Thor realized much more quietly than normal.

“Um, sure, Darce. Come on, babe.” Jane said somewhat reluctantly, tugging lightly on Thor’s arm to guide him out of the room, but giving Olympic level side-eye as they left.

“So...” Clint began, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably.

“Good god, this day just keeps getting better.” Darcy grumbled, dropping her head.

“Wow, glad seeing me is such a disappointment?" He asked.

Darcy sighed, “It’s not that. I’ve just had a weird couple of days.”

“Why the fake name?” He asked.

She hesitated,“...I guess you could say I’m not too pleased with my parentage, at the moment. And unfortunately my… _dad_...knows people.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if to steel herself against the truth of what she had said. “Makes it hard to disappear.”

“Your dad’s Stark.”

Darcy’s eyes shot open at his confident statement.

“Come on.” Clint said, gesturing to himself. “I specialize in espionage.”

“Great. Not like I knew _that_ before.”

“Seriously, though? You gave me a fake identity. I didn’t give you all the details of my job. I feel like we’re kind of on the same level here.”

Darcy let a heavy breath out through her nose, “Yeah. Okay, you’ve got a point.”

They were both quiet for a minute, while the weirdness of the situation settled around them.

Clint looked down at his abandoned sandwich, half laying on the counter in front of him.

“How about you let me take you out to lunch,” Clint glanced back up at her words.

“You wanna buy me lunch?” He asked.

“Yeah well, maybe you can tell me a bit more about your job, and I can tell you my real name.”

“I thought it was Darcy?”

“It is, but I’m being cute here. Work with me man.”

“Oh, sorry. Um, yeah, sure.” He agreed, dumping his ruined sandwich in the trash, “Let’s go.”

“Cool.” Darcy smiled. “Lead the way Austin Powers.”

"Hey, my name really _is_ Clint."

"Still being cute."

"You do that a lot?"

"Constantly. Get used to it."

"Uh huh," He said, as they got into the elevator, "There's a great little place down the street we can go to."

"Sounds good, Eastwood."

"Oh, come on."

"Hey, at least that one is a play on your actual name."

"Yeah, yeah." He said with a reluctant smile as he laid an arm around her shoulders.

This afternoon was starting to look up.


End file.
